


now that it's said and we both understand, let's say our goodbyes before it gets out of hand

by ashintuku



Series: fox on the run [20]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Past Slavery, dealing with grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 18:10:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11880003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashintuku/pseuds/ashintuku
Summary: “Why do you hesitate, then? If it is a simple matter of travel, speak to Quill and enter in the coordinates.”“Pete’s the problem.”





	now that it's said and we both understand, let's say our goodbyes before it gets out of hand

He understood the grief that Quill was going through. 

It was a grief he went through himself, day after day, night after night; barely a reprieve to be had. A constant ache in his chest: everything around him reminding him of trips with his daughter or outings with his wife. 

He remembered when the grief was new and fresh; how he had gone out to hunt down every single associate of Ronan the Accuser’s, intent on rending them limb from limb until they were nothing more than meat sacks for the carrion creatures of varying planets. He knew he was going to be caught eventually – he was not subtle, not even close to trying to be discreet. He had to take down the most he could in as short a timeframe as he could, and when he was finally caught he went without a fuss. 

The Nova Corps did not kill his family; did not raze his village to the ground. The only thing they were doing was preventing his vengeance for his family, and even that was temporary, at the end of it. 

So he knew what Quill was going through; he understood it, as he did not understand so much else about the Earther. For once he and his teammate were on equal footing. 

Yet he had no idea on how to help Quill go through his grief. After all, the one who had caused it was dead – and his associate was the one Quill was _grieving_. There was no vengeance to be had, here. 

Sharpening his knife carefully, he narrowed his eyes before turning around to see the dirty Ravager walking into the room. His expression was thoughtful; he believed Gamora would describe it as ‘far away’, though how a face could hold any distance from the body, he was not sure. Metaphors were strange. 

He was holding the fin and the arrow that Yondu had always worn. He knew that the arrow had been saved by Rocket and Quill in the midst of Ego’s destruction. He wondered if Denarian Dey would count the destruction of a living planet as murder, seeing as Ego had had a flesh body along with his planetary form. He frowned at his knife. 

He then looked back to the Ravager and wondered where they had found a fin so much like the one they had burned Yondu with. 

“You are troubled,” he said after a moment. The Ravager jumped, looking at him with wide eyes; his mouth opened partially, revealing yellowed, crooked teeth. He wondered how Quill had kept such straight, white teeth. “Why?” 

“...Jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’,” the Ravager said after a moment. He walked over slowly to Drax, sitting down across from him. Drax put down his knife and his whetstone, and wondered why the Ravager thought he wanted him to sit with him. “Dunno if I should go ahead with it, is all.” 

“I cannot read minds, what are you thinking about?” 

The Ravager blinked, and then set down the fin and the arrow as if that were explanation enough. Drax stared at both, and then looked at the Ravager again with expectancy. The Ravager raised his eyebrows. Drax scowled. 

“If you are not going to tell me, you should let me know. It is rude to leave people waiting for answers.” 

“I—wha’? I jus’—” The Ravager sighed, rubbing at his face before nudging the fin with a finger. “Pete gave me th’arrow ‘cause he thought Cap’n would wan’ me t’have it. Dunno why, I started th’mutiny.” 

“Yes, that is very confusing. But Quill often does not make sense, continue.” 

“He insisted, though, so I kept it. Bu’ Cap’n – he didn’t believe in keepin’ things fer sentimentality’s sake. He thought ye should _use_ things t’remember people by.” Drax nodded, and the Ravager sighed again. “I’m thinkin’ ‘bout usin’ the arrow.” 

“Yondu controlled the arrow through whistles,” Drax said after a moment, narrowing his eyes as he thought. “Do you also have this ability?” 

“Tha’s where the fin comes in,” the Ravager said, tapping the fin with a finger. “Th’Kree developed it, meant t’replicate a Centaurian’s natural fin. Th’thought was tha’ they could control their Centaurian slaves through ‘em, usin’ pain an’ the like. Accordin’ to the Cap’n, all the other Centaurian slaves died in battles, an’ th’Kree stopped usin’ the artificial fin. Bu’ the fin is programmed into the nervous system of a body, an’ the person with it uses it t’control the arrow through sounds. Usually whistles, ‘cause it was made with Centaurians in mind.” 

The Ravager scratched his jaw, looking at a point beyond Drax’s shoulder. He did not turn to see what he saw; likely he was doing what all the other crew did from time to time, becoming ‘lost in thought’ as Gamora would describe it. 

“There’s a Kree refugee who escaped th’empire couple’a decades ago who knows how t’do the surgery.” 

“Why are they a refugee?” 

“They helped slaves escape. Those who couldn’t, they helped in other ways. Mercy killin’, tha’ sort of thing. Cap’n used to go t’em when the fin was actin’ up, seein’ as they’s the only one who knew how t’fix it an’ wouldn’t turn Cap’n in to bounty hunters. They removed the parts that could cause pain, too, so Cap’n trusted ‘em well enough.” He sighed, looking back to Drax. “Thinkin’ ‘bout askin’ t’pay ‘em a visit, installin’ the thing myself.” 

Drax nodded. At last, a full answer. Why the Ravager felt the need to go on and on, he was not sure. But he had learned through the past few months to let people talk through their thoughts. They eventually came to the point, he found. 

“Why do you hesitate, then? If it is a simple matter of travel, speak to Quill and enter in the coordinates.” 

“Pete’s the problem.” 

Drax stared at the Ravager. The Ravager sighed and scrubbed a hand through his short, bristly hair. 

“Pete knew ‘bout the fin implant an’ all tha’ it included. Knows it’s a neural surgery. ‘Course he did, Cap’n damn near trusted him more’n anyone else an’ always answered ‘is questions if he thought he could.” Drax noted that there was jealousy in the Ravager’s voice, and he wondered at it; but it was not important to the current conversation, and so he set it aside for another day. “He ain’t gon’ like it.” 

“Explain to him what you have explained to me.” 

“Won’t work. Pete’s the sentimental kind. Holds ont’ things but don’t necessarily use ‘em.” 

Drax thought back to some of the strange items that littered the _Milano_ , before nodding in agreement. That was very true. 

“An’ ‘sides, he ain’t gon’ wan’ me t’go through any neural surgery from a back-alley Kree refugee. He’d call it a ‘deathtrap’ or somethin’.” 

Drax nodded again. This was also very likely, and did indeed sound like something Quill would say in response to such a request. 

“Then I will speak to Quill for you.” 

The Ravager stared at him, mouth hanging open. Drax made a face at seeing the full range of grimy teeth. 

“Wait, wha’—”

“Yes. I shall speak with him now. Do not worry, Ravager, I will make sure that Quill understands your desires.” He stood up, making his way from the mess hall. He could hear the Ravager sputtering, and thought it was because he had no idea how to thank him. Understandable; he was a very giving person. 

“M’name’s _Kraglin_!” 

~+~

He found Quill on the bridge; one of his new music player’s ear plugs in his ear, the sound of music faint but present. He was staring out the observation windows, completely unaware of Drax’s presence, and once more Drax wondered how such a pathetic idiot had managed to survive to the age Quill was at. It was practically a miracle. 

He stepped up beside the captain’s chair, and crossed his arms. After a minute or two, Quill shifted, and Drax looked down to see the Earther staring up at him. 

“Hey Drax – what’s up, bud?” 

“The ceiling,” Drax said, wondering why Quill could not look up himself to see that. Quill opened his mouth, likely to say something equally as confusing and dumb, but then shook his head and tugged out the ear plug. “The Ravager wishes to install the fin you passed down to him, in order to remember Yondu as he believes he would wish to be remembered.” 

“...Do you mean...Kraglin?” 

“Yes. I said this.” Drax rolled his eyes. “He knows the location of a Kree refugee doctor who could install it for him.” 

“Wait – wait, no, no way. That surgery messes with the _brain_ , Drax. Yondu told me that when they tried the surgery on adults, a lot of them didn’t _survive_. I’m not going to kill Kraglin just because he wants to remember Yondu by killing people with his arrow!” 

Drax frowned, looking at Quill and setting his hands on his hips. Quill had stood up sometime during his rant, his arms stiff at his sides, and he looked angry. Angry and scared, and Drax felt himself soften a little for his strange friend. 

He set his hands on Quill’s shoulders, looking at him carefully to make sure he would be made perfectly clear. 

“You cannot control what everyone does with their bodies, Quill.” 

“He’s all I’ve got _left_ , Drax.” 

“I understand.” And he did. He understood Quill so very intimately; knew that if even one loved one of his had survived Ronan’s slaughter, he would try his best to ensure that he never lost them to anything else. But he also knew that that was unfair to the survivor. “It is unfair to him, though. He will not do what he believes is right because _you_ are scared. You are stopping him from grieving as he believes he should. You are allowing his suffering to continue while you work through yours. Not everyone can grieve through speaking of their emotions as openly as you.” 

“It’s so much less lethal; I don’t understand why no one else tries it.” 

“It is not for everyone. I avenged my Hovat and Kamaria by slaughtering all of my enemies. Gamora’s horrible sister works towards the destruction of Thanos. You weep openly and speak to anyone willing to listen about the hurts in your heart.” He shook Quill, then, gently, knowing that if he rattled his brain too hard he may damage him. “Allow the Ravager his healing.” 

“...his name’s Kraglin.” Quill sighed, pulling out of Drax’s hold and scrubbing his hand through his hair; a gesture so like the Ravager’s that Drax wondered if they were brothers. They did look alike, a bit. He doubted the others would agree; they hadn’t seen the resemblances between Yondu and Quill, either, yet Yondu had been Quill’s father in everything but blood. It was frustrating that people only looked at the surface for resemblances. It would be like claiming Gamora and her horrible sister were not sisters because one was green and the other was blue and purple. Preposterous. 

“...He really wants this, huh?” 

“I have said this, yes.” 

Quill quirked a smile, before turning to look out the observation window again; he sighed, then, rubbing a hand over his face, and leaning over to press a button. “Kraglin? Get to the bridge soon as you can.” 

“Comin’ Pete.” 

He released the button, turned to Drax, and clapped a hand on his shoulder. 

“...Thanks for bringin’ this to my attention, big guy.” 

“Of course,” Drax nodded, smiling easily. “Now if you would excuse me, I must find Mantis. I am trying to convince her to allow Gamora and myself to teach her self defence.” 

“...Good luck with that.” 

Drax nodded again, turning and leaving just as the Ravager came to the bridge. He gave him a wide-eyed look, and Drax slapped a hand to his shoulder; keeping him up when his knees buckled. 

“You are welcome, Ravager.” 

“It’s _Kra_ — oh ferget it.”


End file.
